Race for the Weapon
by Bad Luck Novelist
Summary: Two groups, two missions: one to receive a stolen possession, one to stop intruders. Neither likes the other, and both will be forced to join forces for the sake of a child, and for the lives of the innocent people that are soon to be in danger... AU.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Drizzt Do'Urden or any other characters or settings copyrighted to RA Salvatore or that is part of the Forgotten Realms. The only thing I claim ownership of is the story idea and any original characters in this story.

Credits: Nizzre belongs to me.

AN: This is my first Drizzt fanfiction, and will also, hopefully, be a long one. It will possibly turn out to be a Drizzt/Entreri fanfiction, but that isn't known for sure at this time.

- - -

Prologue

The wind blew strongly against the group of adventurers, as they were camped out on the hillside overlooking the dwarven mines. They were an odd assortment, one that would normally bring raised eyebrows and whispers to any that saw them, except for their famous exploits.

One of them was a dwarf, with his broken horned helmet and the shield that was emblazoned with the Clan Battlehammer symbol of a foaming mug; he was, of course, the current king of Mithral Hall, King Bruenor. Beside him was the human woman Cattie-brie, with her stunning magical bow Taulmaril on her back. Beside her was a curly-haired halfling, known as Regis, whom was better known for his way with people and his wanting of comfort.

Across from Cattie-brie was Wulfgar, the barbarian of the group. He was the tallest by far, and radiated strength from every muscle in his body. There was also two others, both of which that were the most unusual of the lot; Drizzt Do'Urden crouched next to King Bruenor. He was a rogue drow elf, a ranger in the surface world and a hero to many. By his side, sat a smaller, shorter elf, whose skin was no less dark then that of the older of the two; the boy was his son, Nizzre.

There was silence between the companions, as they looked from one to the other, each one in their own contemplation's and thoughts. Nizzre squirmed restlessly, his short sword clanking against the rock he was leaning against, bringing the glances onto him. "Didn't ye mention that we were called on to be rid of some thieving highwaymen that were crossing into the Dale?" Cattie-brie asked, to the nod of her adoptive father.

"Aye, they be askin' for us to go after 'em, to save their merchants some trouble!" the dwarf replied gruffly, "I said we would." Bruenor eyed the drow next to him, who was smiling. "What are ye grinning at, elf?"

"You are getting restless, my friend," Drizzt said, getting a snort in response. "As are the rest of us. This will do us some good in going."

Nizzre scrambled forward, staring at them with wide, untainted eyes. "Highwaymen? Does that mean we are going out of Ten-Towns soon?" he asked eagerly.

"That means, _we_ are going. It is still too dangerous for you yet, lad," Wulfgar said, saving Drizzt from having to disappoint his son once again. Nizzre looked purely stunned, then angry, as he turned on the group. For a minute Drizzt mentally thanked his large friend, before looking calmly at his raging son.

"Again! Again you are going to leave me behind to work with an axe, when I could be out there killing orcs and yetis with you! Why? Am I not competent enough?" he asked, standing stiffly, his fists clenched, "I want to go!" As he went silent, Drizzt pushed himself onto his feet to meet his gaze.

"You will be coming with us soon enough. You still have a long life, and waiting a while will not harm your skills. Have patience; your time will come…" the older of the two said quietly, before nodding to the others and heading back to the mines. Nizzre glared at them, clutching the short sword in his shaking hands, before running after Drizzt.

"He certainly has a temper," Regis piped in, breaking his silence to the surprise the circle of friends. They couldn't deny it, though the reason for the young drow's anger was understandable; that had been the third time he had been denied the chance to go out with his father and companions to travel the side of the Spine of the World and Icewind Dale.

"Nizzre'll learn soon enough, don't ye doubt!" Bruenor stumbled up, taking up his axe and shield as the others followed suit.

- - -

The room was warm, as a fire blazed in the fire place, the wood crackling loudly in the silence. Three figures sat in its warmth, the pair of bounty hunters sizing up the wealthy, older man. His wrinkled lips formed a humorless smile. "Introduce yourselves, so we can begin our work."

Scowling, the dark-haired man sitting across the table from him pulled a sparkling, jeweled dagger out and held it in a relaxed hand. Taking the nonspoken threat in stride, the merchant waved his own skeletal hand, dismissing it, and turned to the male that sat next to the man.

That one held his interest. He was a drow elf, a great plumed hat sitting on a shaved head, and the multi-colored cloak hanging on the back of the chair, showing off the high cut vest. "Jarlaxle, kind sir," the drow said, bowing his head respectfully, "and my sullen companion here is Artemis."

"Aha, very good, very good," the elder said, leaning back to regard the two fellows in front of him, "the tales of Jarlaxle and Artemis Entreri have reached my ears, and I don't doubt I have chose the best men to put on the job."

Entreri subtly moved the dagger, just enough to catch the older man's attention, but not enough to alert any shadowing guards that were lurking about. "Be on with it," he growled quietly, earning a disapproving frown from the merchant and a chuckle from Jarlaxle.

"Ah, yes…" Uneasily, he slowly stood from his seat behind the table, and walked around to the fireplace, aware of the eyes on his back as he turned to look back at them. "I need you to track down a band of thieves that have stolen a weapon from my private collection. I am willing to pay a high price for its retrieval and the heads of the men behind its theft."

Jarlaxle nodded slightly, thinking over the mission set before them, and the possible gains that could be made from it. "What price?" he asked, showing pure white teeth in a smile.

"And what weapon is this?" Entreri added, looking skeptically at the two. It seemed highly unusual that such an old man would have such a need for a weapon, to be willing to pay a 'high' price for it. Running a hand over his spotted, bald head, the merchant shrugged.

"Name your price, and I will give you half of it now and half of it when you return. And that weapon!…it is a priceless treasure, and heirloom to my family that has been around for generations. It isn't known what power it has, because the last one to wield it…let's just say, he isn't around to tell of it." Entreri looked at Jarlaxle, who in turn looked at him, his eyes thoughtful.

"5,000 gold pieces?" the drow suggested, and Entreri nodded curtly, his eyes narrow in suspicion. The old man hadn't given his question a straight answer, and it did not please him at all. With a clap of his hands, the elder went to the door and looked out.

"I will need 2, 500 gold pieces counted out of the treasury, and given to our guests before they leave," he said to one of his workers, a young girl that couldn't have been more then 17 years old. She nodded quickly, and bounded off. "Will you have anything to drink, gentlemen?"

"No." Entreri stood up, hooking the dagger on his belt as he did so. He smirked, seeing the surprised – slightly fearful – expression of their host as Charon's Claw was revealed to him, its evil blade glowing red. Jarlaxle peered at them, his eyes alight with amusement, as his partner strode out of the room, pulling on his black bolero hat.

"Quite a performance there, Art," the drow commented, matching the humans steps as they started down the hall. Entreri glowered, looking coldly at him.

"Do not," he growled, "call me 'Art' again."

- - -


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Drizzt Do'Urden or any other characters or settings copyrighted to RA Salvatore or that is part of the Forgotten Realms. The only thing I claim ownership of is the story idea and any original characters in this story.

Credits: Nizzre belongs to me.

AN: Aha, the first chapter. It is going really fast, and the times seem iffy. Overall its alright, but it could use some work.

- - -

Nizzre stalked through the mines, glowering at the dwarves that dared to say a word to him. He didn't care, as they looked shocked then walked off grumbling about 'unruly youths.' He knew at that very moment the Companions of the Hall were preparing to leave for their adventure in the wilds of Icewind Dale, and it only served to put him into an even more sour mood. He let his mind drift, his legs taking him wherever they willed him…

It had been several years since he had been left on the surface by the band of drow elves he had been with. He hadn't even began his training with the house Weapons Master, and when Nizzre's oldest sister mentioned it to the young elf – knowing full well how much he would fume that he couldn't go on his own travels – he had hastened to put a pack together and to follow the band. When they had caught him, they dragged him along on the raid, the priestess making sure to use her three-headed whip whenever he opened his mouth to utter a word.

On the day of the raid, he had been saved by another drow, who had been in the area at the same time – at the time, he hadn't known there were any rogue dark elves – and was taken in. Nizzre had thought he had finally gotten his chance for the adventure he wanted.

He had been wrong. The drow, Drizzt, had been on his way back to Icewind Dale with his friends – Cattie-Brie, Wulfgar, Bruenor, Regis, and a black panther – and had started training him when they got to the mines, but had refused to let him wander too far from Ten-Towns.

Once Nizzre's thoughts returned from the past to the present, his mood returned. "I want the chance. This is boring." His red eyes glittering, he ran off, bowling over a young dwarf as he went.

- - -

Drizzt let his cowl back, letting the chilled wind hit him in the face, relishing in the feeling of the open road ahead of them. They were only half a day out, but the group were already revved up for the fight awaiting them in the form of Highwaymen, and the bands of orcs and the yetis that would no doubt get in their way.

Bruenor led the charge, his one-horned helmet sitting atop his head and his axe in hand. "Ye must of done tha' boy some good. He didn' even try to follow us!" he remarked, as the drow came up to him.

"I did not. The last words I had with him were on the hill," Drizzt said, to the surprise of his friends. They picked up on the foreboding feeling that ran through, that something was amiss. Cattie-brie looked over her shoulder, back toward the invisible Ten-Towns.

"Mightin' he try to come after us?" the auburn haired woman asked. Regis looked back in the same direction, as did they all for several long minutes, before shaking his curly haired head.

"Could Nizzre manage it?" he dared to mumble. Drizzt nodded, more then confident that the young drow could at least find them before trouble found him, as he turned back to start the long trek again.

"He will know whether he is to stay or to leave."

- - -

Entreri rolled his eyes, listening to the tune deaf drow next to him, as he belted out an old sailor song about a 'beautiful mermaid' that saved a ship from its inevitable destruction. The assassin doubted the mermaid was beautiful, and that any sailor would just let her swim off after months at sea with no women within sight until then if she was. "Would you shut your mouth? You're likely to kill anyone within a two mile radius of us with that infernal noise you are making!"

Jarlaxle stopped, folding his arms and staring at the human. "Infernal noise, you say? My singing is no worse then that singer's in the last town we were in," he said, getting a scowl from Entreri.

"If you would care to look around, we are not sitting in a tavern with the drunks that would belt out any song that came to their mind without a thought." The drow looked calculatingly at him, before doing a graceful leap over a fallen log.

"By the leads from the townspeople, we shouldn't be too far off from the group that ran with this weapon," Jarlaxle commented, shifting the subject over to spare another night of being glowered at by the grim assassin. "Night is falling. We should stop for the night, so that we will be well rested to search in the morning…we are nearing the pass by the day."

Noting the humor in the dark elf's voice, Entreri looked impassive, indifferent. The pass in question led to Icewind Dale, the home of his former rival – and obsession – Drizzt Do'Urden. After his death, however, it was nothing more then a frigid land that held the cool of winter year round to the dark man. "And we are to wait, why? I was under the assumption that neither of us were wearied yet," was his reply.

Jarlaxle looked around, the scenery surrounding them only slightly new to him after being on the roads of the surface for a score of months with Artemis Entreri. "We are to wait," he started, choosing his words carefully as Entreri's cold gray eyes bore into his own red ones, "so that if we are to be ambushed, we will not be drained as swiftly as if we ran through the night."

His eyes narrowed, Entreri turned away, started through the trees again. Jarlaxle noticed immediately that their course had changed; they had been headed straight toward the area of the path, but now Entreri was leading him to the west of it. He snickered quietly, seeing that his silent friend had, without saying it, agreed.

- - -

Nizzre felt sweat trickling down his face, as he sat behind a frost-covered boulder. He felt horrible, as his body protested against the beating it had taken on an hour earlier from the battle with a yeti. The yeti hadn't actually won, but neither had the young drow; both had taken damage, however.

He shivered, standing up to continue on his way, wishing for nothing more then the warmth of a fire and the company of his adoptive family. Sluggishly, Nizzre trudged on, grinding his teeth in anger at himself for not bringing any salves for injuries. He promised to chastise himself later, once he was in the safety of a group.

"Why does he always have to be right!" Nizzre seethed, kicking with a booted foot at the ground. There was the glow of a light in the distance, silencing the raging child, and he stared incredulously at it before letting out a yell. "It's them!"

As his voice echoed from various areas, he frowned. The light was quite far for him to walk in a short amount of time. Going off it, it appeared that he had a good few hours to go, and by then it would be far into the night.

The prospect of walking, tired and sore, into the darker hours of the night didn't appeal to Nizzre at all.

- - -


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership of Drizzt Do'Urden or any other characters or settings copyrighted to RA Salvatore or that is part of the Forgotten Realms. The only thing I claim ownership of is the story idea and any original characters in this story.

Credits: Nizzre belongs to me.

AN: Hmmm, sorry this took so long. I started it, and then had computer problems. --; Blah to that. So, it is going to be rather short, more then I would like anyway. Anyway, RR, whatever.

- - -

**Chapter Two**

As morning crept by, Nizzre felt his hopes rise up once again. He darted off to the side, trailing his companions as they continued on their own path. He could see Wulfgar's large form, and even Regis' small features from his vantage point. His father was on the other side, doing his own trailing with the black panther Guenhwyvar.

Nizzre watched them for several moments, contemplating the scene and wondering what would happen when he encountered them. It certainly would end in him being sent back to Ten-Towns, most likely with a sore body and an even sorer pride. His eyes swept over, in the direction they were heading. He knew the general area they were going, from the maps back at the complex… A smile broke out across his youthful face.

- - -

Drizzt looked about, narrowing his keen eyes. He had seen movement in the wilderness nearby, and went at a silent dash to catch whatever it was. The footprints were small when he spotted them, that of a child most likely, and surely not a yeti or giant. "Peculiar indeed…" he whispered to the panther, holding back a smile.

There was only one child who would have likely followed the route they were taking. Nizzre. "Stubborn child, isn't he?" Drizzt commented, as he came back toward the main path. The panther let out a yowl.

"See something?" Regis asked curiously, as the other Companions of the Hall watched him. Drizzt shook his head, his light footsteps stopping. He didn't wish to alarm them with the news that their young charge had gone against all their wishes and gone on his own adventure; at least, not until he knew how the youngling was.

"Ye rushed off quickly, elf," Bruenor commented. Drizzt put his hands up, a smile on his face as they watched him. He shook his head again, his white hair shifting with the movement.

"I had thought I'd heard something, but I was mistaken," he replied, as Cattie-Brie exchanged skeptical looks with Regis and Wulfgar, and shrugged. He stepped lightly across, and over to his original sentinel placement, the panther shadowing him. "There is nothing to worry about."

- - -

Entreri crouched down in the dark shadow cast by the mountaintops, as Jarlaxle and he surveyed the area. The pass was an hours walk from their position, and looked bare. With only a whisper of sound, the drow elf passed him and gracefully scaled one of the trees. He looked about, before following.

"Anything?" he asked in the hand code that was one of the communications of the dark elves. It made use of intricate movements of the hands, and used a precision that very few humans like him could grasp and manage. Jarlaxle replied in the same fashion, making the motion for a negative answer, and started back down.

"We have a clear road," Jarlaxle said, as his feet touched the ground. Entreri landed next to him, his hands at his dagger and sentient sword defensively. Even if all appeared well, danger could come at them at any moment, either in the form of rogue humans or a mountain giant.

"For such a weapon, the thieves are going to a strange place to sell it, if that is what they are going to do," the human remarked, taking to the lightly treaded path. Jarlaxle came up behind him, watching for any that tried to approach them.

"If this weapon is so wondrous as that merchant made it seem, selling it in Luskan or some other city would be disastrous for them. They'd be caught easily," the drow pointed out, as his companion scowled. Entreri had to admit that it was likely the reasoning the bandits had for running to the frozen tundra of Icewind Dale.

He didn't have to like it though.

- - -

Hours went by, then days. Nizzre peaked out across the pass from behind his hiding spot, his eyes narrowed. There were almost always rogues about, ready to ambush any that came through, and he knew he would be no exception to that.

There was laughter floating to his ears from somewhere in the pass; the sound was humored, light, and also sounded arrogant. He slithered around the rocks, keeping low to the ground and his feet silent and graceful for a drow child. Nizzre, though having an intelligence of his own, was like any other child that was allowed to grow and learn; he had a curiosity that most denizens of the Underdark didn't have the wonder of having.

He blinked, as he came up on a brightly-lit camp that was situated in a wooded patch of the mountainous path. There were several wide shouldered forms hunched around the fire, laughing as one of them put on a show about one of his supposed exploits. Nizzre ducked back down, and mulled over what to do.

If he went in, he could take down as many of those as he could and save his adoptive family some trouble. On the other hand, he could also make more trouble for them if he failed. _Of course it isn't something I can use a coin to answer._

Unsheathing the short sword at his hip, Nizzre looked at the shiny blade, his eyes narrowed. With a smirk typical of the drow, he dashed off.

- - -

"She loved it! I didn't even have to pay the wench…" They roared with laughter, as one of their companions retold a tale of one of the happenings in one of the southern towns. It was a nightly occurrence for them; one would guard the booty, while the rest would sit and listen to stories and gloating about their good fortune.

"Bah, who cares about some woman? When are we going to be able to go get a lot of them with that mighty weapon we have out back?" one of them asked, bringing about a silence. They looked at each other warily, and around the surrounding area. The weapon in question was in a small tent with the rest of their treasures, all of which were stolen from cities such as Luskan and Waterdeep.

"We," the leader of them replied, his voice low and threatening, "are going to sell it for gold, and be gone from here. We, will be going to Silverymoon with the loot and will live the lives of kings!"

A cheer went up amongst them in agreement, as the questioner scowled and sat back. He was not pleased.

- - -


End file.
